Dwarven Hospitality
by a-mild-looking-sky
Summary: /AU post-BoFA, Thorin lives/ One year after the Battle of the Five Armies, Thorin brings Thranduil and Legolas to Erebor to make them regret the Elvenking's harsh, humiliating treatment of the Company in Mirkwood. Rating may go up in future chapters. [m/m slash]
1. Chapter 1

**Dwarven Hospitality**

**CHAPTER ONE**

Thorin Oakenshield groomed himself for far longer than usual - maybe more than acceptable for a dwarf - that morning. For an hour at least, he stood before a bejewelled mirror under the scrutiny of his two nephews who handed out robe after robe to him, deep blues and rich purples. They had tried hard not to smile as he had called them into his room; he had seen their fleeting amusement to begin with. But the stern look in his face had quickly silenced them.

Everyone knew what the coming day would entail. For the first time since the Battle of the Five Armies, as it had come to be known, the elves of Mirkwood were returning to Erebor. It had been upon the suggestion of Thorin himself, a year after relinquishing his lost throne and resurrecting the desolate mountain realm. The decision had not fared well with his advisors, or his nephews, who had wasted no time in informing him of their thoughts on the matter. They had asked him if the after effects of his wound in the battle had at last found him and had firmly reminded him of the terrible way they had been treated by the elves on their quest through the woodland realm.

But Thorin remembered vividly the manner in which they had been dealt with; the long, humiliating nights in the darkened dungeons of the Elvenking, those cold eyes leering down at him, the mocking tones of that awful voice. Those memories were precisely why he now brought them to him. Why he had offered them his hospitality under the pretence of civility. And why he now stood in his most magnificent robes, crowned in shining metal, the beautiful, strong craftwork of the dwarves. Though still hesitant of the idea of their former captor darkening their uncle's kingdom, Fíli and Kíli had resigned themselves to acknowledging that they could not change Thorin's mind. So they had complimented the majesty that his appearance bore and accompanied him to the throne room.

Erebor was heralded as one of the last great dwarven kingdoms on Middle Earth. To have had it crumble almost to the depths of ruin under Smaug the Terrible would forever spark melancholy fury in Thorin's heart, though every wall, every column, every intricacy had been restored to its former shining glory. The throne room, abandoned and for so long a withering memorial to the decaying realm under the dragon, had been mercifully rescued. Because now, a more divine seat of power could not be found in all of Arda. The throne had been carved into the living rock, the centrepiece around which the whole grand cavern spanned. All who came before it bowed down in its magnificence, aglow with the eternal radiance of the Arkenstone, blazing above. A grand, high walkway led to it, stretching above the hewn chasm below. Side by side with his heirs, it was here that Thorin Oakenshield now walked. He climbed the short flight of steps and took his place - his rightful place - in that royal chair. From this elevated position, he was able to survey the whole cave, taking in every glorious dwarven warrior figure protruding like sentinels from the walls, the arches of the vaulted ceiling and the door at the very end of the cavern where he knew that soon, his visitors would be arriving through.

He did not move from here for much of the morning. Messengers came and went under his bidding to watch for the coming of the elves but it was not for some time that they returned with affirmatives of their presence. When he at last received the words he had been waiting for, he felt the beginnings of a strange, lurid thrill searing through him. They were here. Crossing into his realm. He had half a mind to forget his invitation to them and act as the Elvenking had acted towards them merely a year previously, a cruel, unforgiving suspicion of the travelling strangers in his land. Yet the Elvenking certainly was no stranger.

His eyes were once again drawn to the heavy doors at the end of the grand walkway. For a few moments, they remained tightly closed, despite his orders to the guards to allow in the visitors. Yet then, very slowly, very laboriously, a gap appeared between them and a sliver of light from the outer rooms poured in. The guards entered first, a perfect marching group of wonderful order. They bowed to the king, parted and then, flanked by more sentries, he at last got a glimpse of them, ascending the first flight of steps.

He had forgotten how very alien the Elvenking looked. He towered above his dwarves, a creature made of shimmering fabric and white porcelain, seeming to float rather than walk towards him. Even from a distance, those crystal blue eyes shone and pierced into his gaze, making his insides twist and coil. He had been quite happy to forget about him, cast from his mind the glow of his pallid skin, the twisting smirk on that red mouth, the lurid radiance he exuded. He had not changed in the slightest, the product of eternal youth.

He had not brought any other with him but his young son, the Prince. As they came before him, he lingered behind his father, not yet so much of a dangerous, terrible presence. Yet Thorin could clearly see echoes of the king in his manner, imagined he was the picture of him in his youth. When they paused in front of his throne, the lurid thrill seared him again. Two generations of royal elves stared back at him, waiting upon him to speak. He recalled the days the king used to pay his respects to his grandfather in this same place. Before his betrayal of them all, before he imprisoned his kith and kin in his dungeons. He could easily make him regret such actions -

"Welcome back to Erebor, O Elvenking," he said aloud, eyeing them from atop his high seat. "It has been a long time since you set foot in these halls. I trust you have not forgotten how to greet your host upon this throne?"

The traces of a vaguely amused smirk touched the corners of Thranduil's mouth. He tilted his head in the very same manner he had acknowledged Thorin's grandfather so many years previous and then dipped a knee in the slightest of ways, humouring the dwarf. The prince followed his lead, bowing far deeper. It was a satisfying sight to see.

"Nay, you have not forgotten. I hope you also recall the splendour of this realm. A very fine spectacle it made, did it not? In one year, we have restored it back to, and beyond, that lost magnificence. Even the eyes of elves could not find a flaw." Thorin relished talking of his realm to these visitors. After all, it had not been so long since their places had been reversed and the Elvenking had revelled in his own kingdom before him. Do you want to know how it feels, elf? he thought. But Thranduil still bore the hints of that small smile, watching him with wide shining eyes. He knew what he was doing.

"It is very fine, Thorin Oakenshield," he breathed, but without even so much as glance about him. "I do recall its glory days."

Despite himself, Thorin chuckled. "Ah, you are wrong, Elvenking. You are standing here in its glory days right now. Rebuilt from the ruins made by a dragon. If that is not glorious, then I do not know the meaning of the word." Thranduil's face did not betray any emotion. He inclined his head again but did not speak. Thorin stared at him for a moment before turning his attention on his son, who was still standing someway behind his father, unequal to him. His blue gaze was not quite as penetrating as Thranduil's yet but he was still only young, at least in elven years, he supposed.

"This is your first time in Erebor, is it not, Prince?" he addressed him. He noticed Thranduil's eyes flick downwards to glance fleetingly over his shoulder at his son, trying to gauge how he would respond. A spark felt as though it had been lit briefly inside of Thorin. Could this be a weak spot for the Elvenking? He waited on the prince's answer.

"Yes, it is," he said. His voice echoed meagrely throughout the cavern, not the same deep, dark tone of his father. "My first time inside the mountain."

"Of course. I had quite forgotten your presence at the battle." It was a small slight but one which gave Thorin much pleasure in saying. Thranduil's eyes came back to him. He restrained a smile. "But I do not bring you here to discuss war with you. If you shall join me later, there are other matters I plan to talk of."

"Matters I hope that will warrant our long journey," the king said levelly. "It is not a trek we make lightly."

Thorin swallowed the anger that Thranduil's arrogance had always aroused in him. Yet, within the walls of his own realm, the bite of his icy hostility did not seem so harsh. Instead, it was far weaker, less poisonous, not through his own doing but the authority that twisted crown could not bring here. This was his kingdom. He could do as he pleased, not the elf. He nodded. "It is not an invitation I make lightly."

A slight raise of those expressive eyebrows. "Very well. We shall join you later upon your request."

"I shall expect you." Thorin did not care in the slightest about lying to the elves, not even to the prince, whom his battle hardly concerned. Yet the Elvenking had brought him along with him and thus, into the line of fire. As it turned out though, Thorin secretly relished this turn of events, especially to see the looks Thranduil gave his son when the dwarf king turned his gaze upon him. He was the flaw in the elf's armour, evidently his weak spot. He would see how he could break that armour apart even further. Yet, as it was, he did not expect to speak of such 'matters' he alluded to to either of them. That was not why they were there, truly. No, he did not care about lying to them. It was about time to turn the tables upon the conniving creatures.

He rose from the seat and beckoned to one of the guards. The elves moved to let him approach the king. Bringing him close, he muttered lowly, as quietly as he could in his ear, away from even elven senses. "Show them to their rooms. They shall not be there long."

(Tbc)

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My first Tolkien fic published online and I'm literally terrified but ssh. Omg seriously I'm sorry if I've like wrecked anything haha xD don't look at me. No but if you want to comment I'll love you :) xxx


	2. Chapter 2

**Dwarven Hospitality**

CHAPTER TWO

The way the two royal elves were taken along to their rooms was more akin to them being prisoners than guests. The dwarven guards flanked them on both sides, marching quickly and purposefully through the vaulted, dark passageways, and not one uttered a word. Towering above them, Legolas trailed behind Thranduil, disallowed from walking at his side by the position of their host. Although not quite as vigorous in the staunch dislike of the dwarf race that his father had, he still shared the mistrust all Mirkwood elves had instilled in them, and wouldn't have been surprised if the dwarf king had meant for this separation. He probably suspected father and son would conspire or something such as that. Old rulers were always so paranoid of possible plots behind their backs.

By elven standards, the prince was still in his youth and so did not fully understand the deep animosity his father held for the dwarves, harboured over thousands of years. He, himself, was mindful of them through inheritance and all of the resentful, biting words his father had spoken. But he had never had any grievance personally inflicted upon him by them. Not even when they had been imprisoned in the dungeons of the woodland realm the year before.

He knew that topic would arise during their stay here at the Lonely Mountain. The dwarf king would accuse them of mistreatment and his father would defend his actions, icily but calmly. It was an exchange Legolas had seen one side of many a time. So many a time he believed he may have been indoctrinated with the words himself.

He didn't know what he wanted from this visit to Erebor. He wasn't even sure what the purpose of the invitation there had been. All his father had said to him was to whisper in his ear as they entered the realm and tell him not to leave his side. In all his years, he had barely done any different.

The corridor that they were now being led down did not look any different from the many other corridors they had been along. However, they were soon brought to an abrupt stop and the dwarf leading them thrust out an arm to indicate to a number of doors down one side. Legolas moved to his father's side to hear his words and was vaguely surprised to find out that their rooms were directly next to one another's. Some part of him deep inside, obviously instilled by his father, told him that there was something wrong with that, and as the dwarven host walked away, he found his eyes lingering after them.

Thranduil sharply grabbed his arm and turned him back. "Legolas," he said firmly, then lowered his voice when the sound of it echoed off the walls. "Keep your eyes forward."

"I was -"

"Ssh." Still holding onto his arm, he guided him down the corridor and into one of the rooms that had been pointed out to them. Now they were alone, Thranduil had let slip his unemotional, bare mask and was frowning darkly. Legolas watched in confused silence as he tightly shut the door before the dwarves could see, ducking under the low alcove. Luckily, the rest of the room had a far higher ceiling and both elves could stand freely beneath the vaulted eaves. Legolas privately admired the wide space while his father was busy listening through the door for the guards. It was no elven bed chamber but there was no mistaking or denying its majestic appearance. He thought he understood now why Thorin had placed them in there specifically - probably to try and rub the restored elegance in their faces and show them how far he had come from the ruins of the previous year.

He looked away as his father turned back around, keeping his eyes forward as he had been told to do. He couldn't help but notice the troubled look on his face. "Do you trust them?" he said. The question took Legolas by surprise. Although his father was not secretive in the way he dealt with council amongst his trusted companions, it was a rare occasion for him to ask such a direct statement to him. He stared at him for some time, frowning and briefly wondering how similar they looked while doing that. "Legolas. You are not concentrating. I asked you a question."

"I'm sorry, adar." He bowed his head but Thranduil grasped his chin and forced him to raise it again.

"I've told you to keep your head up while you talk to me."

Legolas stared into Thranduil's piercing blue eyes, searching him. He knew exactly what answer he wanted him to give. "I don't know what to think of them, adar. Now that Thorin has reclaimed his kingdom, he has no reason to harbour any animosity towards us, surely."

Thranduil looked at him a moment longer before dropping his hand and walking away, obviously dissatisfied with his response. "He will not let his animosity fade away quietly," he said firmly, as certainly as if he was reaching into Thorin's mind and reading the secret thoughts within. "He still bears a hatred of us, of what he sees as unjustified cruelties against him and his people. It is more than likely that he sees them as treason now he has become King. He is not worthy of our trust."

Legolas watched his father pace around the room as he spoke, words and voice growing passionate. The dominance that he exuded had an impressive influence over many people. He tried not to disappoint him too far as he replied. "Maybe we should wait to hear what he has to say when he speaks to us this evening." Yet as soon as he said it, he knew it was a meagre suggestion. His father tossed his head in exasperation.

"He will lie to our faces, I am sure of it. Find some way to elude and toy with us, as he and his company did to escape the cells they were put in. We would be wise not to trust one word he says."

"Adar, if he is truly being civil, by rejecting him we would be putting in peril -"

Thranduil cut him off by again coming before him and placing a strong hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see his father's face had suddenly softened a little, the fire temporarily vanished from his eyes. "We would be wise not to trust one word he says," he repeated quietly. "And you would be wise to do as I say. Do not trust him or any of his companions, Legolas."

His father was very hard to deny, even if he was still torn between two minds by what he was saying. "Yes -" he started, but Thranduil continued as if sensing his indifference.

"Remember what I'm saying, Legolas. He has not brought us all this way, far from our home, alone, to shower us with honest affection. Does this seem like the state of a diplomatic meeting to you? But he knows that I will distrust him. It is you he will be interested in. Do not leave my side. I will not let -" He paused, the words dying on his lips. He cleared his throat. "Do not leave my side."

Legolas felt like a mere elfling again when he was spoken to like this. He was certain that many others in his father's realm had noticed this treatment and how he yielded so silently to it, but it was worthless to resist Thranduil. He was ancient, wise and extremely authoritative. And, more often that not, he turned out to be right. Although there were a fair amount of matters that Legolas privately disagreed with him over, it was far more beneficial to submit to him, especially when those bright, watchful eyes seared down at him. He hated more than anything to disappoint him.

"Yes, adar. I will stay by you."

"Very good." He noticed that a weight appeared to lift from Thranduil's shoulders as he moved away.

However, it was not long before there was a rough knock upon the door. Legolas rose from the bed where he had been sitting and without even being told to do so, moved to stand by his father's side. As Thranduil called who for whoever it was to enter, he expected to see Thorin there, come to see if his extravagant rooms had had their desired effect. Yet it was not him but the same dwarven host from earlier. They entered brashly, ignoring the prince and coming straight to Thranduil.

"The King requests your presence," one announced, not bothering with terms of address. "He wishes to speak with you."

Thranduil looked down at them, seeming to eye each and every member of the guard. "Very well," he said, then turned to Legolas, motioning for him to come along. The leader of the dwarf host noticed the movement.

"Alone," he said firmly. A slightest trace of worry ran across Thranduil's stoic face, but he kept composed.

"Is there any reason why he wishes for me to be alone?"

"It is not my place to question the king. You are requested to come before him. He made no mention of your son."

Legolas looked up at his father, trying to gauge his reaction. If he had still been a little child, he could have clung onto him and they wouldn't have taken him away. Thranduil kept staring down at the dwarves. "Will this take long?" he asked.

"I have told you it is not my place to question the king. Come, he is expecting you."

Thranduil had no choice but to leave with them. They circled him, corralling him into the middle of their group, and without another word, marched him out of the room. Legolas watched him go, catching a swift glance from him as they herded him out. "Ada -" he said. But they were soon gone.

He could do nothing but sit back upon the bed and watch the open door for their return. Part of him wanted to follow but he did not know where they had gone and the mountain realm was a huge labyrinth of corridors and passageways. If he became lost, his father would be furious with him. So despite his longing, he decided to simply stay where he was.

Now that Thranduil had left, he was forced to be alone with his thoughts on the dwarves. It was true that there were many reasons to distrust them and on some level, he did just that. But he could not bring himself to suspect and dislike them as much as his father did, and he doubted he ever could. Maybe it was their ages, his comparative lack of experience, a general division in their outlooks on the world... But his father had warned him, taken him by the shoulder and stared at him fiercely, as he had done many a time. He wanted to stay by his side and sate the little child inside of him who wanted to have his decisions made for him, if only so he could escape the warring conflict of what was right, wrong, obedient and disobedient.

He wished he was not a prince sometimes so he did not have to bear such burdens, exacerbated by the weight of his title. He was about to remove his circlet which had begun to dig into the back of his head when he heard footsteps down the corridor. He wondered how long had passed since his father had left.

This time it was not the dwarven host but Thorin Oakenshield who came to the door. Legolas immediately rose from the bed. "What have you done with my father?" he asked when he saw Thorin was alone. The slightest glimpse of a smile touched Thorin's mouth.

"He is fine. Do not worry."

"Where is he?"

"You will meet with him again later." Thorin scrutinised the look on Legolas' face with a vague sense of amusement in his features. "You have been told not to trust me, haven't you? Well, he is not here now, you can make up your own mind."

Legolas stayed silent. Thorin smiled and shook his head at the treatment. "And seeing as he will not be returning too soon, I came to invite you to take in the beauty of Erebor. And this evening there will be a feast. I'm sure you are hungry after the long journey."

The words he spoke were true but Legolas tried to stand his ground. Thorin watched him, entertained by how he avoided contact with his eyes. "It is your choice, however. Do not let your father decide if you are to eat or not tonight. He may join us if you come." He turned back to the door, the sound of clinking metal loud in the echoing chamber. "I will return within the hour."

With that, he left. Legolas listened to his footsteps as they disappeared down the corridor. Once he had gone, he sighed and resumed taking off his circlet, realising how heavy it had become in his hands.

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**aha *nervous laughter* sorry this took a while to update. Hopefully the next chapter will be a bit quicker c**: **thank you all so much for the reviews/faves/follows so far :3 **


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